


The Mask I Found

by rabidchild67



Series: Origins [2]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Foster Care, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Original Character Death(s), Teen Angst, Teen Romance, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-11
Updated: 2012-09-11
Packaged: 2017-11-14 01:09:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who was Nick Halden?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mask I Found

Neal took his seat at the poker table and joined the game in progress with some detachment. He’d been sent here undercover to do recon on the underground casino, but more importantly its suspected owner, investment banker, crook and all around thug, Silas Grant. Grant was suspected of laundering the money from the casino through his legitimate investment firm, and Neal was here to see if he could find evidence of a link between the man and the establishment.

He had been playing for less than 30 minutes and winning big. A beautiful woman approached and stood behind him, observing him closely. When he won $3,000 on one hand, she stepped forward amidst the applauding onlookers to congratulate him. Neal sized her up; she was clearly in charge of the place.

“You play well,” she began, extending a hand. “I hope those aren’t aces in your pocket.”

Neal took her hand, smiled and shook it. “Perhaps I’m just happy to see you.”

“Felicity Lund,” she introduced herself. Of course she was beautiful – weren’t they all? Tall and slender, she wore her blond hair twisted in a simple chignon. The silver sheath she wore skimmed her curves without being too tight, the only jewelry she wore were tasteful diamond drop earrings that probably cost more than Peter made in a year.

“Nick Halden. You have a very nice establishment. I wonder if there’s a chance to play for some higher stakes?”

“Patience, Mr. Halden. Will you join me for a drink?”

Neal inclined his head and she led him to a private suite on a balcony overlooking the gaming floor. Neal took note of the two bodyguards who shadowed them, raised an eyebrow as they arranged themselves on either side of the door.

Felicity poured two glasses of champagne from an opened bottle in a bucket on a nearby table, handed him one and said, “So, who are you really? Because I know for a fact you are not Nick Halden.”

_____

**Hoboken, NJ  
1995**

Neal Caffrey followed Mrs. Callahan up the stairs to the room that he would be sharing with two other boys at the Horizon Home for Boys. He had been sent here by the NJ Division of Youth and Family Services and told this was his home now, or at least until they could track down his thieving drunk of a dad. It had been a week since his Gran had passed and their neighbor Mrs. Bicci couldn’t afford to keep a teenage boy around any longer.

Neal dropped his duffel bag packed with the few clothes he’d decided to keep, and a backpack with his sketchpad and pens onto the empty bed and glanced around the room. It was painted a pale blue with white trim, with two sets of bunk beds on opposing walls. Only two of the beds seemed to be occupied, so Neal chose the bottom bunk on the one closest to the window.

“Dinner is at 6:00, Neal. I’ll send one of the boys up to help you get settled.” He thanked her, giving her a sad smile. As taken with him at the age of 15 as most women would be when he matured, Mrs. Callahan placed a hand on Neal’s shoulder and squeezed, her heart going out to the lonely, quiet boy. With those looks, she thought to herself, he’d either go far in life or get sucked into a life on the street. From what she’d seen running this place, it would most likely to be the latter, but she couldn’t help but renew her resolve to do her best to prevent it from happening to “her” kids. She left the room and went to start dinner.

Neal began to make his bed with the thin sheets and blanket that he found folded neatly on the mattress. “Hi!” a voice said from behind him and he turned. A boy stood there, about his age, with large, expressive brown eyes and a wide smile. He wore a maroon shirt, an old grey suit vest and jeans, with a beat up old grey trilby jammed down over his unruly brown curls. “I’m Nick Halden.”

“Neal Caffrey. I suppose you’re one of my roommates?”

“I am. I see you’ve met old Cally.”

“She seems nice.”

“She is. Can’t cook worth a damn though. So what are you in for?”

“My grandmother died.”

“I’m really sorry to hear that.” Nick said sincerely. He spoke with the self assurance of a person twice his age. He came about it the old fashioned way – through close observation of people, and an innate talent for generating bullshit. These skills had gotten him through a difficult childhood involving a junky mother who had finally offed her husband when he’d turned his abuse towards their son. He’d lived in the “Hobroken Home for Boys” as he called it for the last two years and was its unofficial mascot. 

Neal's eyes filled with tears, and Nick quickly changed the subject. “Let me help you make that bed.” The two boys made short work of the task, then Nick helped Neal stow his clothes and other belongings away.

“There’s still a few hours before dinner. How ‘bout we go into the city?” Nick said with a smile.

Desperate for a diversion from his circumstances, Neal agreed. They made their way to the PATH station and waited for the next train into New York. They stood on the train, swaying as it wended its way along the track, brakes screeching alarmingly as ever. Nick leaned over and whispered to Neal, “Watch this.” He walked through the car and used its movement to stumble into a young man in his 20’s who was standing with his friends around the pole in the center of the car. They were apparently on their way out for a bachelor party. Neal was shocked to see Nick’s hand dart out and lift the young man’s wallet out of his pocket before heading back towards him.

“What are you doing?” Neal whispered, panicked.

“My version of an ATM. These guys always have at least a hundred on them to impress the ladies. Don’t worry, he’ll never miss it.”

“What if you get caught?”

“I never do,” Nick smiled as he removed the cash from the wallet and shoved it in his pocket. A few minutes later, as they exited the train at the Christopher Street station, Nick jostled up against the same young man. Neal noticed that he replaced the wallet in his pocket – absent its cash of course, but with his ID and credit cards intact.

\--------------

Some weeks later, Neal and Nick were walking to class when Nick stopped suddenly. “Come on,” he said, and Neal followed him. He headed down a disused hallway and exited the building. Neal paused briefly, looking back. He’s not normally one to bend or break the rules, but he’s also been having fun with Nick and is glad for his attention. He left, easing the door closed behind him.

Neal followed Nick to a nearby playground. Nick turned and, with a flourish, removed his trademark trilby, allowing it to tumble down his arm until it reached his fingertips, where he caught it deftly. Neal smiled, amused at the trick. Nick replaced the hat on his head and is suddenly serious. He stepped up to Neal, putting both his hands on Neal's shoulders,and stares into his face intently. “Neal, it’s time you became a man.” Neal looks at him quizzically. Nick laughs and lets him go. “It’s time I taught you what you need to know to survive on the streets. First things first: how to pick a pocket.”

They spend the remainder of the morning at it, Nick giving Neal pointers on style and technique. Once Neal has mastered the mechanics of removing a wallet from a back pocket, a purse and a breast pocket, they decide to return to the school for lunch.

Over the next several days, Nick’s tutorial continues, with him teaching Neal how to spot a mark, how to approach him, and most importantly, how to evade capture by twisting out of a variety of holds. Neal proves to be a quick study, gaining confidence and earning points from Nick for style. Finally, Nick decided to challenge him. “Neal, my boy, it is time for you to take your final exam in pickpocketing 101. For your final assignment, I want you to pick Mr. Sloane’s pocket,” he says, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Neal looked at Nick incredulously. Mr. Sloane was the dean of students and as such, ruled over the detention room and various other student iniquities with an iron fist. “You’re kidding, right?” Neal said. Nick shook his head and smiled. “I am your teacher, and I set the exams, Neal. Now, you’ve got until the end of the day. I want it in my hands by 3:00 pm sharp.”

Neal swallowed hard, and nodded. He is determined – he would succeed at this or die in the attempt.

He spent the remainder of the morning silently stalking Sloane, a middle-aged man with a paunch and prematurely grey hair cut in an unattractive buzzcut. He waits in the doorway of a classroom near his office until the bell rings for 4th period, when Neal knows he will head to the teacher’s cafeteria for lunch. As he passes, Neal breaks out of the doorway at a run, knocking into the man, hard, and bouncing off of him. “Oh, excuse me, sir!” Neal says, turning and hoisting his backpack onto his shoulder. Sloane is incensed, spluttering. “Watch it you! Where do you think you’re going?”

“Sorry, sir, I was on my way to geometry class and I didn’t want to be late. I’m still gonna be late – I’d better go!” Neal took off at a run, skidded around the next corner and into the boys’ restroom. He stood there, panting, triumphantly raising Sloane’s wallet and looked at it with awe. He couldn’t quite believe he’d pulled it off. Regaining his calm, he went off in search of Nick.

A few minutes later he found him, walking down the hallway towards the gym. “Nick! Hey, Nick!” Neal called out. Nick turned and headed back toward him. “Well, grasshopper?” he said, a smirk on his lips.

“I did it!” Neal said excitedly grinning from ear to ear. “You should’ve seen me! I still can’t believe I pulled it off!”

Nick took Neal's arm and led him to an empty classroom. “Let’s see it.” Neal pulled the wallet out of his jacket pocket and showed it off. It was brown leather, well worn and had a monogram – NRS – embossed on the front in cheesy gold lettering that was beginning to flake off. Neal handed it over. “Now, what have we got here?” Nick said with a smile, opening the wallet and searching its contents. “Twenty bucks, credit cards, gym membership card – don’t think that’s getting much use these days. Hmm, what have we here?” Nick pulled a very old and worn-looking condom out of the wallet and held it up for Neal to see. 

“Oh, I didn’t need to see that,” Neal said, deadpan. “Now I have an image of him having sex in my mind.”

“Eww!” Nick exclaimed, and thrusts the condom into Neal's hand. Neal playfully overreacts, pushing Nick’s hand back toward him in mock dismay. “No! Old man rubbers!” he laughs. They wrestle back and forth for a minute until Neal stumbles a bit and lands with his back against the wall. Nick, propelled forward by his momentum, catches himself, hands coming to a rest on the wall on either side of Neal.

Neal smiles up at Nick, his face alight, eyes shining, a laugh in his throat. Their eyes meet. Suddenly, Nick leans forward and covers Neal's mouth with his own in a kiss that is as sweet as it is unexpected. The kiss lasts just seconds before Nick pulls away. His eyes reflect a number of emotions in quick succession: passion, uncertainty, fear. Neal holds his gaze, breathes out slowly through pursed lips. “Um,” he begins.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. That was stupid. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Nick takes a step back, talking fast to cover up his mistake.

Neal just looks at him, a thoughtful look on his face. He reaches his hand up, touches Nick’s full lower lip with his fingertips, blue eyes intent on the object of the caress. Nick’s words trail off at the gesture, he blinks and leans in to kiss Neal again. This kiss is longer, deeper, Nick’s tongue thrusting into Neal's mouth hesitantly at first, but then with more conviction. They break apart several minutes later, breathing heavily, pants just a bit tighter for each of them.

“I’ve never done that before,” Nick says truthfully. “But I’ve wanted to ever since I met you.”

“Wow,” Neal smiled looking up at him through his lashes, suddenly shy again. He didn’t ever think he’d feel this way about anyone, let alone his best friend. It was simultaneously thrilling, intoxicating and confusing. “Can we do it again?”

The both laugh and decide it’d be better for them to get to class.

\-----

Nick continues to tutor Neal, as he calls it, over the next few weeks, beginning with lock picking and graduating to boosting cars. With the exception of the cash from marks’ wallets, they keep nothing; opened doors are relocked, cars are driven around the block and restored to their parking places. This surprises Neal, who surmises Nick is merely doing it to prove something to himself or to the world. Neal is just content to coast in his wake.

The boys also spend these weeks exploring a relationship that rarely goes beyond kissing, but becomes deeper with each shared “score” as Nick calls them. Neal has never looked up to another person quite like he does to Nick, who uses his charm to scam them treats from the local coffee shop, and his street smarts to keep them under the police’s radar.

One night when they are alone in their bedroom, Nick crawls into Neal's bed and they start to kiss. Before long, Neal can feel Nick’s erection pressing into his stomach in answer to his own. He thrusts his hips forward, seeking some friction. He reaches down between them and tentatively palms Nick’s cock over his sweat pants. Nick breaks off the kiss and puts a hand over Neal's. “Wait,” he breathes, “we shouldn’t.”

“You’re right,” Neal says, panting, lips reddened and swollen. “But I swear to respect you in the morning, if that means anything.”

Nick smiles back at him, his mouth quirking and glancing down. “Well, they’re not going to just take care of themselves,” Nick points out, and reaches down into Neal's pants. Neal gasps at the contact, the newness of another person’s touch on him, and almost comes right then. He thrusts his hips forward into Nick’s hand. Nick answers with a kiss to the base of Neal's throat, begins to suck there. Neal pulls back. “No hickies,” he reminds, trying to sound like he means it but wishing they didn’t have to have this rule. He wanted to bear the marks of their love, but they both knew it would result in their being separated.

“Ohyeahthatsright,” Nick slurs, and resorts to just licking the spot, nuzzling against Neal's throat and breathing in the scent of him. The combination of sensations proves to be almost too much for Neal. He pulls back and reaches down, freeing Nick’s cock from his pants. He grabs his own and rubs it along the underside of Nick’s. Nick answers with a thrust of his own hips and soon they find their rhythm, the friction of skin on skin so sweet. Neal comes first, followed by Nick, who cannot stifle his moans as well as Neal was able to. Neal covers his mouth with his own to try to silence him.

Afterwards, they snuggle against each other like overgrown puppies, limbs entwined atop a bed too small even for one. Nick rests his head in the space between Neal's neck and shoulder, Neal stroking idly through his sweat-dampened curls with his fingers. “I think I love you,” Nick murmurs, softly, glancing up at Neal. His eyes are wide, vulnerable.

Neal kisses him on the forehead and smiles. “My Gran says I don’t give love easily,” Neal says haltingly. “That I am… careful about giving away my heart and she’s happy for that because it means I won’t be hurt easily. But… I think she’s wrong, and I…I love you, too, Nick.” He pulls Nick into him, holding him tight, probably too tight, and they fall asleep in each others’ arms.

\-------

As they are walking home from school a week later, Nick tells Neal he’d like to introduce him to a friend of his. Neal agrees and they take the train into Manhattan. They soon arrive at a bar in the East 40’s. “What is this?” Neal asks suspiciously.

“Don’t worry, we’re here to see Eddie. He’s a friend of mine. He taught me everything I know.” Neal looks dubious, but follows Nick into the building nonetheless.

Once inside, they are ushered to the back office where a small, wiry man with a goatee and a straw porkpie hat sits playing Klondike. He looks up when the boys enter and smiles when he sees Nick. “Nicky,” he says warmly, standing and giving the boy a hug and kiss. “How’s my favorite nephew?”

“I’m good, Eddie. This is my friend Neal that I told you about.” Eddie holds out a hand for Neal to shake. “Any friend of Nick’s a friend of mine. So, Nicky, did you give any more thought to that little project I mentioned the other week?”

“Yeah, but I think I’ll need another person which is why I brought Neal to see you. I’ve been teaching him a few things and I think he’ll be able to help.”

Eddie looks Neal up and down appraisingly. “He’s skinny,” he comments. “But strong,” Nick counters. “Let’s give him a tryout,” Eddie says, writing something on a slip of paper. He hands it to Nick. “Here’s an address. Meet me there tonight. If the kid’s got any chops, I’ll know. Then we’ll see if he’ll work out as a contractor.”

Nick grins from ear to ear and nudges Neal with his elbow. Neal looks at them both warily, but smiles to show he’s agreeable. When they leave, Neal stops Nick on the street and asks him what he’s just signed him up for. “Eddie is a world class thief, and his crew has worked jobs all over the world. They do banks, museums, you name it. He’s been teaching me the business.”

“That’s how you know all this stuff about picking locks and things?”

“Yeah. Eddie and my mom are cousins and he’s kinda been looking out for me since my mom went away. I want to be in his crew, but he says I have to finish school first.”

“A mind is a terrible thing to waste,” Neal points out and they share a laugh.

\-------

Later that night, they meet Eddie at the address he’d given them. They are dressed in dark clothes and sneakers. Before they left, Neal joked that they couldn’t have been more conspicuous if they were also sporting watch caps and black shoe polish on their faces, and Nick just shot him a look. “We’re New Yorkers, Neal. We wear a lot of black.”

Eddie hands Neal a set of lockpicks and says, “This is a test for both of you. The house over there is owned by a bigtime lawyer. Neal, you’re going to work the lockpicks and keep lookout for Nick. Nick, there’s a Guardium 2500 wall safe in the den I want you to get into. There are some documents in there I want you to pick up for me. Nothing else, you understand?”

“Got it. Time limit?”

“I’ll give you 20 minutes to get in and get out. Your time starts now, kid – good luck.”

The boys headed over to the darkened house. Neal fumbles with the lockpick at first, but soon recovers, getting them through the front door in under a minute. The den is just off the foyer, and they head inside. The safe is behind a mirror on the wall, and Nick pulls out his kit for breaking it; Neal stands in the doorway, ears straining to hear any indication that they are not alone in the house.

Ten minutes pass and Neal hears a low curse coming from Nick’s position near the wall. “What is it?” Neal asks.

“I can’t get the last tumbler to fall,” Nick says, the stress apparent on his face.

“We’re running out of time.”

“Give me one more minute.” Five pass. Neal enters the room and pulls on Nick’s sleeve. “Come on, let’s just get out of here.” Nick shakes his head and renews his efforts.

Suddenly, there was a noise behind them and the boys whirled around as the lights came on. The home owner stood in the doorway, wearing a bathrobe and boxer shorts, a shotgun trained on them. “Stop right where you are!” the man shouted, waving the gun around nervously.

The boys raised their hands, eyes trained on the barrel of the gun. “I’m calling the police!” the man said, reaching for a nearby phone. Nick took a step forward, held out his hand in s placating gesture. “Please, sir, let’s not be hasty,” he began, but the home owner, already highly agitated at finding burglars in his living room, reflexively pulled the trigger on the gun. Nick jerked backward as the blast hit him squarely in the chest.

“Nick!” Neal screamed as the boy fell, falling to his knees beside him. He moved over to him, pressed his hands over the wound to try to staunch the blood that flowed freely. “Nick, no, no, no, no, no,” Neal sobbed. He looked over at the home owner, who stood in the doorway in shock. “Call 911!” he ordered, and the man picked up the phone.

“Neal,” Nick rasped, his eyes darting back and forth, looking for Neal.

“I’m here,” Neal said, his voice breaking. He pressed down on the wound, but the blood wouldn’t stop. “Hang on, OK? Help is coming.”

Nick reached out, grabbed Neal's shirt as he grimaced in pain. “Neal!” was all he could manage to say. “It’s gonna be OK, Nick. Please, just hold on,” Neal said, tears streaming down his face.

When he died, Nick was still holding on to his shirt, eyes fixed on Neal's until their light faded. “Hold on. Please, just hold on,” Neal repeated over and over as he pulled Nick into his arms and held him close, rocking back and forth until the police arrived.

\-----

Despite offers of leniency, Neal didn’t tell the police about Eddie’s crew or how he and Nick came to be in that house at that time. But because of his age and lack of priors, Neal was given only a short probation. He lived at “Hobroken Home” for another month until his father, hearing of his newly acquired, larcenous skills, came to claim him – “Daddy’s little money-maker” he called him, exploiting his talents for his own gain until Neal finally left at 17.

It took Neal a very long time to be able to fall in love with anyone again – not until he met Kate eight years later. He took on Nick’s identity for all of his cons as an homage to his first love; every time he said his name was a prayer, a tribute, an exhortation: “I love you, I miss you, it should’ve been me.”

\-----

**New York City  
Present Day**

Neal smiled at Felicity, face open and guileless. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not Nick Halden because he is dead.”

Neal is so shocked to hear this he actually forgets to breathe for a few seconds. He decides to just keep his mouth shut and see how things progress. He narrows his eyes.

Just then a man steps out from behind a screen and walks toward them. “You’ll have to forgive my daughter. Sometimes she lacks tact when it comes to matters of our family.” Neal's eyes shift over to the new arrival. The man is older and fatter, but Neal recognizes him immediately. “Eddie?”

“Neal Caffrey. I’ve been following your career for some time, my boy. It’s been too long.”

Neal was uncomfortable. He hadn’t seen Eddie since Nick’s funeral all those years ago. “How you been?”

“Well you know what they say, time wounds all heels. So it’s you who has been dropping Nick’s name all over town. I should’ve guessed.”

Neal smiled sadly, the old pain giving him a familiar twinge; tears came unbidden to his eyes. “Listen, Eddie, I don’t know what you think, but – “

Eddie cut Neal off. “He loved you, you know.”

“I know.”

“And because of that, I’m going to give you a pass for coming into my joint and bringing the Feds here.”

“I had no idea this was your place, and for that disrespect, I am sorry. But Grant’s going to go down, Eddie.”

Eddie nodded. “Maybe we can discuss other arrangements for that. But now I’ve got to ask you to leave.”

“I understand. It was good to see you again.”

“Sure.” Neal turned to leave, but paused when Eddie spoke again, his voice quiet, “There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t blame myself for what happened to that boy.”

“Me too. See ya around, Eddie.”

“Yeah. Take it easy, Neal.”

\-----

Neal left the building, walked across the street and rapped on the door of the surveillance van. He stepped inside to find Peter and Jones looking at him expectantly. “They made me,” Neal said , removing the 2-way communicator in the wristwatch they gave him. “Easy come, easy go,” Jones said philosophically. “I’m gonna go and tell the guys on stake out to break it up.” He left Peter and Neal alone in the van.

Peter looked into Neal's face, saw how tightly he was trying to hold on to his mask of calm and confidence. Peter stood and took him in his arms, pulling his head to rest on his shoulder. Neal clutched at Peter, sobs shaking him completely for a few minutes until he regained his composure. With a sigh, he stood back. “Want to talk about it?” Peter asked, handing him a handkerchief.

Neal sat in the seat abandoned by Jones and took a deep breath. “Let me tell you a story of two boys from Hoboken,” he began.

\----

Thank you for your time

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a lyric from the Stone Temple Pilots song “Plush.” 
> 
> Oh, and in my brain, Nick Halden bears an uncanny resemblance to Jonathan Groff.


End file.
